


John Watson and the Demigods of Baker Street

by levele3



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Demigods, F/M, Fauns & Satyrs, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Heroes, M/M, Multi, Other, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Teenlock, demigod Sherlock, son of Athena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levele3/pseuds/levele3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Percy Jackson discovered Camp Half-Blood there was John Watson and the Demigods of Baker Street.<br/>John Watson has lived a life most ordinary, growing up in London with two parents and an older sister, but what happens when a chance encounter with Demigod Sherlock Holmes shakes up John's beliefs and identity as a person. Can John cope with his new reality?<br/>Join John as he enters the world of Greek Gods through the doors of Beta House, London's safe haven for Demigods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Beta House

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this idea for sometime now, well over a year in fact. It has been a while since I posted something for Sherlock so I thought I'd pop this up and see what kind of response I get.  
> I Own Nothing Characters belong to ACD, BBC, MOFF, and GAT  
> World belongs to Rick Riordan  
> I just mashed the two together to have fun for a bit.

Mike was running late, that was a fact. He was supposed to have met John here ages ago. Well half an hour feels like ages when you’re seventeen. John Watson was standing under the shade of some overhanging trees from Regents Park, impatiently checking the time on his second-hand mobile. It had been Harry’s first, as it seemed everything John owned had once been. It was a plan silver flip-phone, it was marred with scratches and some of the buttons stuck, but it was John’s.

‘To Harry, love Mum and Da XOXO’ was etched into the back, a present for finishing studies at the Roland Kerr Further Education College. The model wasn’t even six months old, but Harry was hard on her things. Once it had received a certain number of scratches and dents she deemed it unworthy and demanded a new one. When that didn’t work she had tossed it out her bedroom door letting it crash into the wall opposite, cracking the screen for good measure. John had been pleased to find it still worked and now treasured it as his one luxury item.

John had never thought of his family as poor, they were just practical with their money. Even now his parents were away on holiday while John stood waiting at the Chester Road entrance to Regents Park in an oversized wool jumper that Harry had declared ‘u-g-l-y’ but John found comforting. It was the colour of oatmeal but John wore it over his favourite blue collared button-down. It was early October and John had found the morning cool but as the sun had raised the day had warmed up some.

John was about to give in and call it a day, he had better ways to spend a free Saturday than waiting for Mike, when suddenly a boy with curly black hair ran across his path carrying what at first appeared to John as a wooden baseball bat. The boy didn’t acknowledge John, he didn’t say ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me,’ as he ran past at breakneck speeds. John had turned to say something sarcastic and witty when the bat glinted oddly in the sunlight. In a flash it was back to looking like any normal bat, but for a second it had changed into something else ‘what the…’ John’s thoughts trailed off maybe he needed to get his eyes checked, it was not the first time he had seen strange sights.

For a moment John was frozen with indecision, to follow the possibly dangerous teen, just sit tight and wait for Mike, or run to the nearest Bobby and report what he thought he saw. But what had he seen? If John wasn’t even sure how could he report it? No one ever believed him anyway. Long ago John had stopped trying to tell his parents, Harry, or any of his friends about the odd things he sometimes saw from the corner of his eye.

A long drawn out high-pitched roar broke through the silence of the park jolting John from his thoughts. An impossible image sprung to mind when John heard that roar, but impossible as it may be something inside him was telling him to believe. Underneath his feet the ground began to shake and another ear-drum shattering roar echoed through the air. In a split second John made up his mind and started running. _If_ there was a dragon in Regents Park, John wanted to be with the guy who had the sword.

John ran right into a bank of fog he hadn’t even noticed and was out the other side before he could stop to think about it. Suddenly he was standing in a clearing that was mostly occupied by a seven-headed Hydra. The word came to John instantly unbidden, although he was sure he’d never seen it applied to anything before. It had felt as though an arrow with the word imprinted on it had struck his brain.

In front of the beast stood a girl of about John’s age, her wild raven hair falling in long graceful curls and floating all around her as she dodged first one head, then another all the while shooting arrow after arrow from her long bow. The arrows seemed to miss the creature, sometimes by very small amounts and John wondered how someone who looked so natural with the bow could miss a target so large when he realised, hitting the Hydra wasn’t her goal. She was merely trying to distract it, for in the tree behind the monster was the guy who had ran past John, and he wasn’t alone.

John could see another bloke in the tree, it appeared the two were having some type of argument but John could hear nothing over the snapping of the Hydra’s powerful jaws and the odd swoosh made by a flying arrow. The boy with curly hair was definitely holding what now appeared to be a bronze sword. He kept waving his hands around as though giving some great explanation, swinging the sword around carelessly, lopping off a few stray branches in the process. The guy with him was about the same height as curly, but broader in the shoulders and had something that looked very much like a grenade launcher come bazooka in his hands, he was clearly ignoring whatever his comrade was saying. He knelt on a sturdy tree branch and began taking aim and setting his multiple sights for the many heads of the beast. The teen with the sword suddenly swung down from the tree slicing heads as he went.

John wanted to scream, to yell out to warn him how _not good_ of an idea that was, but it was already being covered. The guy in the tree pulled the trigger on his weapon and it shot out a stream of blue flames that scorched the tops of the necks before the heads had time to regrow. _Greek Fire_ , John thought, again not sure where the words came from.

The Hydra’s body turned black and crumbled into dust that blew away on the wind. The girl let out an audible sigh of relief. Now that there wasn’t seven sets of jaws snapping and growling the clearing became eerily quiet. The guys fell back to the girl, John presumed to ask how she was, or commend her on a job well done, but the words drifting over to John were not ones of praise. The two blokes had decided to continue their argument from earlier and were unaware how vexed their companion was by this.

The girl stood there tapping her foot impatiently as the guys stood facing each other, moving closer with each outburst. John was sure the two were going to come to blows. John could only hear bits of what they were saying, parts of sentences like “ _my_ battle strategy” and “if _Jim_ was here” or “if you’d _waited_.”

“If we had waited we would have been dead” the bigger man bellowed, his shout echoing across the empty area.

This seemed to be the final straw for the girl; she turned on her heel and started marching away from them, clearly exasperated. She huffed in annoyance, venting her anger, stomping blindly forwards; John realized too late she was headed in his direction. He looked around but there was no where he could hide, no bushes or trees near enough to provide cover. The fog bank that had been there earlier was now mysteriously gone. John realised with a start that they weren’t in any random clearing but were in fact on the stage area for the Open Air Theatre.

At the last second the girl raised her head and spotting John stopped dead in her tracks. With nowhere to run John did the only polite thing.

“I thought you were fantastic” John said cheerily by way of greeting the girl.

Her steel eyes pinned him to the spot, not that he had a choice. She was attractive in a conventional sort of way, even with the sweat still glistening on her forehead from the battle, her bow slung across her chest. She was like a goddess with her pale skin, long dark hair, keen eyes, but she wasn’t his type. Girls that looked like that didn’t look at guys like him, it was a fact.

Upon his acknowledgement, her demeanour changed entirely, before she had been battle weary, shoulders slouched in her post fight relaxed state. Instantly she was bright-eyed and alert.

“How much did you see?” she demanded in a hiss, aggressively grabbing John by his shirt front, and pulling him to.

John stammered meaningless sounds, not even full words as her eyes burrowed into his, as if she could make him tell her what she want to know.

“Cool it Irene, he’s one of us” said a deep baritone. It came from the youth with the curly hair, his sword now safely resting in its sheath across his back. At some point the two guys must have realized the girl, Irene, had left them and walked over to where she stood now, holding John aloft as she was.

“How can you tell?” Irene snapped chancing a glance over her shoulder, still holding John firmly in her grip. His feet shuffled uselessly against the tops of the grass blades. She was stronger than she looked, her slender arms actually corded with well-honed muscles. No doubt her navy t-shirt covered an impressive set of abs as well. She had on a pair of well-loved flared Levi’s, faded and naturally torn in places, particularly around the knees and the hems were frayed. An equally used pair of navy All-Star trainers donned her feet.

As the guys drew nearer John realised they were all wearing the same t-shirt. It appeared the three teens belonged to some type of club, or society. The tees were all plan navy coloured shirts with a white b over the left side. Curly paired his with a pair of khaki cargo pants the kind that zippered off at the knee, he had on a new pair of shiny black combat boots, that John instantly recognized as the ones he’d wanted for months, the ones he parents wouldn’t buy for him.

“Drop him girly” said the bigger bloke, and John was only a little surprised to hear him sound like Hugh Jackman. John felt warm just looking at him, besides the tee the man was encased head to foot in tight leather motorcycle gear, including chaps and jacket. Heavy looking silver chains and buckles hung off every inch of him and John wondered how gravity wasn’t pulling this man down.

“Why should I Moran, he saw… what did you see?” she asked again, more sweetly this time and John felt compelled to answer truthfully.

“I saw you kill a Hydra” he answered, shrugging his shoulders as best he could from his awkward position.

“A few mortals can see through the mist.” Curly said, “It is rare, but it does happen. I know your father could.”

Irene looks at John with daggers in her eyes, but they’re not meant for him. John wants to give her a warm, friendly smile, but only manages to quirk the edges of his lips the slightest bit.

“Drop him” curly repeats and Irene complies, with a grim smile, letting John fall gracelessly to the ground.

John scrambled to get his feet under him, not wanting to be disadvantaged. He knows what it’s like to sit on the ground and be surrounded by bigger, stronger kids. John has always had a few close friends and was generally well liked by everyone but as the kid who saw stuff others couldn’t he was sometimes branded a liar and there for not exempt from being bullied.

“Thanks for that mate, I don’t know what all that was about but-” John is stumbling through his thanks when curly cuts him off.

“Whose child are you? I can usually tell but, ah, you haven’t been claimed have you? Obviously.” He seemed to mutter that last part to himself.

“Claimed?” John asked, confused, “what do you mean, claimed?”

“Which parent do you live with?” he continued, “your mother or your father? Maybe if I could narrow it down-” the teen frowned as he began pacing across a small square of ground.

“Mother _or_ father” John repeated the question, “I live with both of my parents.”

Curly stopped pacing and stood staring at John, “what did you say?”

John stalled under that intense verdigris stare, “I said, I live with both my parents.” John didn’t try to hide the annoyance from his voice, he hated repeating himself.

“See, I told you he’s not a half-blood” Irene hissed. “Sherlock, please, can we just go?” she begged.

“No, I don’t think so” Sherlock said shaking his head, “I’m never wrong, he’s not just another mortal, he was born to fight.”

John didn’t like that this guy was just talking about him as if he wasn’t standing _right_ there. As if to acknowledge this curly, or rather ‘Sherlock’ turned back to face John.

“How long?” he asked, “how long have you been able to see through the mist? Seen things nobody else can?” Sherlock had pressed forward with every step, crowding into John’s space.

“Always” John replied without hesitation.

“You’d never seen a Hydra before, but you knew exactly what it was, didn’t you? You weren’t even afraid. You ran towards an unknown danger, unprepared, and felt no fear. Why?” Sherlock’s observations were blunt and to the point, for the first time it was making John actually stop and think.

Why indeed? “Instinct, it felt natural, like this is where I was supposed to be, at this moment.”

John isn’t sure where the words come from, he hadn’t felt any of that at the time, but as he says it, he knows that’s the truth.

“What’s your name?” Moran asks in his Australian brogue, eye-balling John from over the rims of Ray Ban sunglasses.

“Watson, John Watson.” John answers, the way he’s been trained to since cadets and falls unconsciously into Parade Rest as though he is being inspected by a superior officer.

“Well John Watson, I think you had better come with us.” He pushes his posh sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before leading the pack of them out of the clearing.

John protests the whole way, “no, listen, please, I don’t want to become a member of your cult, or club whatever it is. I’m sorry I saw.” His pleas fall on deaf ears though.

John was pretty familiar with Regents Park, he had walked it many times in his short life. He knew all the paths like the back of his hand, all the short cuts. So when they rounded a clump of trees, where John was sure there was nothing, he was surprised to see a small patch of grass, and on the grass two Pegasi and a brand new 2000 BWM motorcycle.

The bike, John can understand, it obviously belongs to Moran. The Pegasi on the other hand, well where did one keep winged horses in London?

“Buckingham Palace” Sherlock says, close to his right ear and for a moment John thinks he’s asked the question out loud.

“Why?” he asks, because it’s all he can think to say.

“Why not?” Sherlock returns then with the smug look of someone in the know says, “For emergencies.”

“I’ll meet you back at base” Moran says, straddling his bike.

As he kicked the bike into life the winged horses don’t so much as whiney, clearly used to the noise.

“I’m riding solo” Irene suddenly declared striding over to one of the Bay mares with confidence. “The noob can ride with you” she tosses back at them lightly.

“Wait, what?” John said, suddenly becoming part of the conversation, “I’ve never ridden a horse before, let alone” he gestured uselessly at the animals before him, “you can’t expect me to just-”

John’s protests were cut short when Sherlock grasped him firmly around the wrist and started dragging him towards the other waiting Pegasus.

“Pet her down the nose, like this” Sherlock said, demonstrating the motion he wanted John to copy, “and say, ‘hello Wendy’ then introduce yourself.”

“Wendy? You named your Pegasus Wendy?” John asked baffled, it was such an odd name he thought, too ordinary for such a mythical creature.

“She’s not mine” Sherlock hissed, his frustration evident on his face, “and I didn’t name her, we just went through this. Yes, her name is Wendy, and the other is Alice. Problem?”

John looked to where Irene was brushing Alice’s coat to a sleek and shiny state.

“Nope, I just thought it might have been something not so, normal” John finished lamely, then felt bad because Sherlock had a very unusual name.

“Well” Sherlock explained, “Their caretaker is fond of _Disney_ movies” he spits “There is also Peter, Mogli, and Tinker Bell. Tinker Bell is a large black Clydesdale, I can whistle for him, if you like?”

“No, Wendy’s fine.” John said, his voice rising a pitch. Mustering his resolve John walked over to Wendy and following Sherlock’s example petted smoothly down her nose. “Hullo Wendy, I’m John, how very nice to meet you.”

She made a happy sounding noise, well one John interpreted as happy and Sherlock feed her a sugar cube.  

Irene gave some silent command that John didn’t see and the two mares knelt down. Irene had no problem mounting Alice, with only the help of reins, no saddle. John was a little more hesitant, he had never ridden a horse before, let alone one with wings.

Sherlock managed to get John on to the waiting creature then hopped up in front of him with practiced ease. As Wendy stood to her full height John wobbled a bit and Sherlock said, “Hold on.”

“To what?” John asked, Pegasus did not come with seatbelts, or panic handles for that matter.  

“To me” he replied, somewhat cheeky, squeezing his thighs around the flanks of the Pegasus and putting Wendy into motion. Wendy started off at a gentle trot that grew into a canter, and finally a full out run, she was heading for a clump of trees John was sure they would run right into. Quickly he ducked his head and shut his eyes tight, he had no choice but to wrap his arms around the slender waist of the boy in front of him.

Sherlock was leaning forward and whispered something in Wendy’s ear.

John braced himself for the impact that never came, suddenly he felt weightless. The wind was rushing through his hair, stinging his face. John chanced opening his eyes and saw they were indeed airborne. A cloudless sky surrounded them, and below, John didn’t dare look.

John was all about believing six impossible things before breakfast, being the kid who saw stuff no one else did allowed him that. That is why he didn’t question the existence of such creatures as Hydra’s and Pegasi, even if it was well after breakfast.

“Race you” Irene called, coming in to view on John’s right and he felt Sherlock urging Wendy to go faster.

“You’re on” he replied back in a cocky tone that let John know Sherlock felt confident in assured victory.

As Wendy picked up speed John could feel her powerful wings pushing them forward. The sensation was too much and he was forced to close his eyes again, holding on tighter, and burying his face in to Sherlock’s spine.

“Don’t be such a wimp Watson, enjoy the view” Sherlock shouted over his shoulder so John could hear him over the whistle of the wind.

John wanted to believe him really, this time when John opened his eyes, he tried looking down but all he saw was red. _Is that a bus?_ he thought, they were flying over a bloody double decker bus. John shut his eyes again as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him.

“Whoa” Sherlock said, “easy girl, steady.”

The sound of hooves hitting the sidewalk made John aware that they had indeed landed.

Without being told to John felt Wendy drop to her standard kneeling position.

Sherlock gracefully dismounted before helping John, whose foot had got caught in the loose hanging reins.

The pair landed hard on the ground, one on top of the other, almost. John had got twisted around and landed flat on his back, knocking his head on the sidewalk. Sherlock’s excellent reflexes were the only thing that stopped him from landing square on top of John, holding out his arms to halt his decent.

“Alright, you’ve got questions” Sherlock said, not immediately moving, holding his plank position and continuing to look John in the eye.

“Yeah, where are we?” John asked, rubbing the back of his head.

In a single movement Sherlock stood up and held out his hand for John to take. John took the offered hand and let Sherlock pull him to his feet; he was just as strong as John had thought he would be. Those slender arms indeed corded with muscle. They held hands a second longer than was strictly necessary before Sherlock let go.

“Baker Street, two-two-one to be precise, also known as Beta House.” Sherlock explained. He had lived at Beta House most of his life, under the dutiful care of Mrs. Hudson, since running away from home at age seven. At ten years Sherlock had lived there the longest.

The door to 221 looked like any other “Right, and why am I here?”

“Beta House is a safe place for demigods to go. You are a demigod we just need to find out who your godly parent is. I can usually tell but if you’re unclaimed it is more difficult.” Sherlock mused, moving into the puzzled sate he was before.

The sound of hoofs touching down came again as Irene landed Alice, and dismounted as gracefully as she had mounted. She gave a sugar cube to each of the mares then in unison the pair took flight once more, presumably back to their stables at Buckingham Palace and their unusual groomer who named them.

“And I am unclaimed?” John asked, still sceptical, not unsure that this wasn’t all some joke or game.

“Do you know who your godly parent is?” Sherlock asked just as cynical.

“No” John answered flat. Did these kids really believe one of their parents was a god? A few years back John remembered a group of girls at school who pretended to be characters from a telly show, _Sailor Moon_. The girls would spend their lunch break running around ‘fighting’ the bad guys. Could this be the same type of thing, was it all just pretending?

“What makes you so sure I am one?” John asked, not wanting to be brought into all this foolishness. At the same time though, mythical creatures just didn’t appear in Regent’s Park every day.

“One what?” Sherlock asked, clearly distracted.

Irene had gone, probably inside the house, but John doesn’t remember seeing her leave.

“Demi-whatsit”

“Demigod, it means you are the product of an affair between a god and a mortal.” Sherlock explained.

“You mean like in ancient Rome and Greece?” John asked.

Sherlock froze, a look of horror on his face, “don’t say that word” he snarled

“What word?” John asked confused, trying to remember what he could have possibly said to inflame the other teen.

“The R- word” Sherlock sneered back.

“Roman?” John asked, warily. He didn’t want to cause another outburst.

“Yes that” confirmed Sherlock, “don’t say it.”

“Why not?” John asked, wasn’t it all the same thing?

“We are Greek” Sherlock said, a note of pride in his voice. Sherlock turned and stalked towards the door of 221, its brass numbers shining brilliantly in the autumn sun.

“Oh” said John feigning comprehension, “don’t get on then?” He followed Sherlock to the door, this could be interesting, just the sort of thing John needed to cure the sense of restlessness that had come over him lately. What could be the harm in playing along?

Sherlock, paused, hand on the doorknob to 221 and turned slightly to look back at John, uttering one word “No.”

Sherlock pushed open the door and John followed him inside, to the cool darkness. To his right there was an open entrance to the main level and there was a staircase that led up to his left.

“Mrs. Hudson” Sherlock bellowed, “we’ve got another one!”


	2. A Study in Ancient Greek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns what it means to be a demigod and meets others like him.

“Mrs. Hudson, we’ve got another one!” Sherlock’s bellow echoed through the tiny home.

“Take your shoes off” Sherlock hissed at him as a motherly looking woman came around the corner and into the vestibule.

John figured she couldn’t be older than mid to late forties, life had been tough on her, but she looked the sort who could take a few punches and deliver a knock-out in return. John noticed that her ears were ever so slightly pointed and her eyes held a mischievous glint to them.

“Yes dear,” she said smiling warmly, “Sebastian’s told me all about it, how exciting.”

“I’m Mrs. Hudson dear” she introduced extending her hand to John, “daughter of Hermes. This is my home, Beta House, though I suppose Sherlock’s already told you all about it. Hermes is the god of travellers you know, this is just a pit stop for those lost and wandering souls.”

“Not all those who wander are lost, Mrs. Hudson” John said quoting the book he was currently reading for English class. “John Watson” he added, introducing himself with a smile, shaking her hand.

It was one thing John thought for a group of teens to believe they are children of gods, just looking for a group to fit in with, but if this grown-up believed and proclaimed herself one, it must be true.

“Well now, Sherlock isn’t he sharp” Mrs. Hudson said, her eyes growing bright, “I think that should be our motto” her lips quirked in a cheeky smile.

A timer goes off from with-in the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson is suddenly in a flurry. “Oh my biscuits” she says, “come along boys I’ve got the kettle on.”

John still doesn’t know what to make of all this but without much choice in the mater he calmly follows Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen. Seated at the small table there is Irene with two other girls and a moody looking boy with lanky black hair. All of them are wearing the beta sign t-shirts.

The boy and one of the girls practically scowled when Sherlock entered. The other girl, who had soft looking brown hair and wide innocent eyes had the very opposite reaction, she looked at Sherlock the way a dog looks at its master when it wants to be noticed. For someone who is such a keen observer Sherlock seems to miss the cue.

“Hello Sherlock” says the mousy girl and John notes that not only does she look mousy she sounds it, virtually squeaking out Sherlock’s name. “Who’s your friend?” she asks.

“This is John Watson” Sherlock introduces, waving an uninterested hand in John’s general direction, “John these are the demigods currently in care of Beta House, minus one or two. John is thus far unclaimed, but I’m working on figuring it out.”

“Uh, hello, everyone” John says giving the assembled group an awkward wave. “You’re all friends then?” he asks. The boy and girl give him blank stares but the mousy girl and Irene both give him tiny smiles.

“Friends,” Sherlock mutters, “not really my area.” The comment is delivered offhand John doubts he meant for anyone to hear him.

“No wonder, freak” spits out the girl sitting closest to the boy, John has already decided he doesn’t like either of them. It may be pre-emptive of him but John has the feeling if he had seen ether of these kids running through Regent’s Park with a sword he would have run the other way.

“Sally Donovan” continues the girl, introducing herself she keeps her arms where they are, defiantly crossing her chest. She has wild curly brown hair and dark skin but bright vicious eyes that switch between dark brown and gold. She is not the type of person John would want to get on the wrong side of, but it seems he’s already made that mistake.

“Daughter of Nemesis, watch yourself John Watson” she threats narrowing her eyes dramatically, “choose your friends carefully.” Her abrasive air is off putting, especially because she looks so chummy with the greasy haired boy beside her. She nudges him sharply in the ribs and he too reluctantly introduces himself.

“Philip Anderson, son of Dionysus” he says lazily, rolling his eyes for good measure to show how tedious he thinks the whole affair is.  

There is a tension building in the air that even John can sense but it breaks when Irene speaks next.

“Relax guys, he’s cool” everyone seems to accept this as truth, Anderson is suddenly nodding his head so too is the mousy girl seated next to Irene. Sally doesn’t look convinced, but she no longer appears hostile. Even John suddenly feels a boost in his self-confidence, the pretty girl thinks he is _cool_. The only one who appears to be unaffected by Irene’s words is Sherlock who has pulled out a chair for himself.

“Take a seat John” Irene says smiling at him, “we don’t bite.”

John, feeling like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, takes a seat next to Sherlock as it’s the only available chair.

“Thanks” he says returning Irene’s smile with one of his own, albeit weak.

“Irene Adler” she says sticking her hand out across the table for John to shake, “I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier; I’m a daughter of Aphrodite.” She gives an apologetic smile and John hears Sherlock scoff.

Irene turns her steel glare on Sherlock and John can almost see the spark of electricity that passes between them. He wonders if life is always like this at Beta House. All John wanted was a quiet afternoon walk through the park with Mike. It wasn’t unusual for Mike to not show up, John had been left hanging more than once, at the cinema, or arcade but Mike always called to give his excuses.

“What’s your name?” John asks, making eye contact with the mousy girl, the only one who hasn’t introduced herself.

The girl looks behind her as if hoping John is talking to someone else then realising it must be her, her face flushes a bright red as she turns back to look at him and everyone else at the table has gone silent. Even the animosity that hung in the air between Sherlock and Irene dissipates.

“Molly” she squeaks, “Molly Hooper, I’m, I mean I don’t, um.” She looks to her left at Irene for help as she stumbles through what she’s trying to express.

“Sherlock found her too” Sally rudely interrupts, and Molly seems to visibly shrink at the dark tone her voice has taken on. “She’s unclaimed; Sherlock’s still trying to figure out who her godly parent is. That was four years ago, good luck, John Watson.” She was the most cynical sounding person John had ever met, except maybe for Harry.

“Sherlock didn’t just find me, he saved me” Molly retaliated, finding her voice and growing confident when faced with Sally’s scorn.

“Molly, please, you don’t have to” Sherlock interceded, placating Molly.

John wanted to hear the story of how Sherlock had saved Molly but it would have to wait as Mrs. Hudson entered with a plate of fresh chocolate chip biscuits and a steaming kettle.

She was followed by Moran, now in just his t-shirt and jeans, juggling eight mugs as well as a creamer and sugar bowl.

John marveled at the size of the man’s bi-ceps, if he worked out anymore, well John didn’t think they made t-shirts that size.

“Where’s your _other half_?” Anderson drawls upon seeing Moran enter.

“Jim’s busy with school stuff” is Moran’s stiff reply “that’s why Irene and I had to do our routine patrol with _him_ instead.” Moran sets the cups down and Mrs. Hudson starts pouring out the tea. John doesn’t like the way Moran jabs his thumb in Sherlock’s direction when he says “him.”

“Since when does Jim do school stuff, on a Saturday?” Sally asks, skeptically as ever, preparing her tea.

It’s the second time today John has heard this kids name and wants to ask why he’s so important when Sherlock speaks silencing everyone in turn.

“It’s going to rain” Sherlock abruptly announced without so much as blinking, sounding bored.

John looks out the window and notices the sun is still out but dark cloudsare rolling in.

“How can you tell?” John asks baffled, “are you the son of a weather god? The weather man said it was supposed to be nice all day.” John stated, this morning when he had checked it was not calling for rain.

Sherlock narrows his brow, mildly insulted, “No, Athena, goddess of wisdom and battle strategy. There was a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure. The temperature in the room plummeted in an extremely short space of time, and the wind changed direction quite suddenly.”

“That’s amazing” John gushed out loud and suddenly everyone was looking at him.

“Thank you” Sherlock said, looking more than a little confused.

Once everyone was settled with their cups Mrs. Hudson told John the story of how she was claimed. Everyone else seemed to tune out, having heard the story before, but John listened with rapt attention as she talked about living in Florida with a truly awful husband and how she met a man in a wheel chair who turned out to be a centaur and invited her to come to New York.

“I stayed there for a while, at Camp Half-Blood, helping out but I missed England and thought about coming home and setting up something similar here.” She smiled at John grateful for his devoted listening. “That was about fifteen years ago.”

After tea and biscuits John was given the full tour. Mrs. Hudson slept on the main level, and the girls, when spending the night would stay in one of her spare rooms. Upstairs, in what was known as 221B there was a living room, a full sized kitchen and dining area, bedroom and bathroom.

As the afternoon wore on John was put through a series of tests by Irene, Molly, and Sherlock the others having abandon him to their care. Moran had to go pick up the mysterious Jim from his group study at the library, and Sally demanded Anderson to take her to the cinema for a date. Apparently she wanted to see a film called _Meet the Parents_ that had only debuted the day before. The trailers certainly made it look funny and John wondered if maybe that’s where he should take his next date too.

“Mate in six” Sherlock declared lazily, his adjudication throwing John off.

John hadn’t even made a move yet, Sherlock had suggested they play Chess to test his strategy skills; he had even been given the curtesy of being allowed to play first. All John had done so far was to raise his hand over a particular piece and Sherlock would declare how long the game would last if John made that move.

The skies had steadily darkened and the rain Sherlock had predicted earlier began falling, first as a light spattering against the windows, now a steady down pour. Someone had painted a yellow smiley face on the wall above the fireplace and John kept looking up at it. An ominous silver arrow protruded from between its eyes. The grizzly sight intrigued him. Who had made that perfect shot?

“I think we can cross Athena off the list” Irene says, doing just that. She was pacing the room holding her clip board on which she had a list of the gods and goddesses and their attributes.

“What do you like to do John?” Molly asked from the rather worn sofa, “Do you have any hobbies?”

“I play clarinet in band class” he affirmed.

Irene made a tic mark on her sheet.

“I like to help people; I think I’d like to be a doctor.” John said, sharing his secret goal with his new group of friends, teens he barely knew. He wasn’t totally convinced they still weren’t trying to pull the wool over his eyes. As for figuring out who his godly parent was well that meant one of his parents had been unfaithful and John didn’t think he could handle that truth.

Irene made another tic mark on her sheet.

“Have you ever stolen anything?” Irene asked him unexpectedly.

“No” was his immediate reply. John had never taken so much as a pencil without asking permission first and gladly returning it.

Irene crossed something off her list.

“Can you read pictures?” Molly asked.

“Read pictures?” John queried.

Sherlock shot her an odd glance and Molly mumbled “Never mind.”

“I love to read books though” John said. It was an ordinary enough statement but three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him.

“In English?” Sherlock asked quizzically.

“Yeah, I don’t know any other languages.” John was confused now, had he said something wrong?

“Impossible” Irene said in disbelief.

“Improbable” Sherlock corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with liking to read?” John asked, getting frustrated, clearly he was missing out on something.

“Dyslexia” Sherlock said abruptly then exaggerated when John failed to comment in a timely manner, “All demigods have it, because our brains are hardwired to read ancient Greek.”

“I don’t” John faltered, he finally thought he’d found a group of people to fit in with on a permanent basis and now he would be left out in the cold, again.

“How fascinating” Sherlock exclaimed, “the more we learn about you, John Watson, the more interesting you get.”

“I agree” Irene said appraising John, giving him a confident smile.

John felt his cheeks redden under the sudden attention.

“It’s ok John, my Greek isn’t that good either” Molly said in an attempt to cheer him up, but the sentiment was misplaced.

“No” John said shaking his head, “I meant, I don’t have dyslexia.”

Again three blank stares greeted him and John fumbled forward in explanation, “I mean, I did a bit when I was little, but I grew out of it.” John shrugged, “just mixed up my B’s and D’s, normal stuff.”

The following silence was unnerving until Irene’s tactfulness kicked in.

“What do you like to read most?” Irene asked and Sherlock gave her an approving nod for moving on.

“Poetry” John supplied in a heartbeat not even ashamed, “I like to write it too” he added a little more hesitantly. At school poetry was considered a ‘girly’ thing to do and as someone who had frequently been labelled a jock John wasn’t keen to admit it was something he actually enjoyed doing and, not to brag, had a bit of a talent for.

Irene gave a quick quirk of her lips, and then hastily made another checkmark on her list.

It wasn’t long before the delicious scent of roast was filling the flat and John felt his stomach growl, tea had been hours ago and he was hungry. Out of habit John checked the time on his mobile, 1800 flashed back at him.

“I should be getting home” John said, glancing out the window, where the rain was still pouring down and the fog swirled around the lampposts. John couldn’t remember the last time he had seen it so dark so early.

“Oh no John you mustn’t leave” Molly squeaked, “please stay for dinner, Mrs. Hudson does a wonderful roast.”

“Roast dinner on a Saturday night?” John asked. At home Saturday consisted of take-out and sitting ‘round the telly watching Doctor Who re-runs. Sunday was usually the night the family got together for a big meal.

“Not all of us stay here through the week” Sherlock volunteered, “Anderson, Donovan, Moran, and a few others live elsewhere, with their mortal parent or closer to where they attend school. At any rate no Molly, Watson here will not be staying, he has a brother he’s worried about and has to get home to.”

Sherlock presented John with a smug look and John returned it with one of utter bafflement.

True John was worried about Harry, and had unconsciously been checking his mobile for any messages. He had not heard from her since Thursday night. Since finishing her college courses in June Harry had become a bit of a party animal, often spending three or four nights a week out drinking and as a consequence missing several shifts at work. However, none of that answered John’s question.

“How did you know?” John asked aloud looking at Sherlock.

“Your mobile says a lot about you, but it says more about its previous owner.” Sherlock points at the device clutched protectively in John’s hand.

“First is the inscription on the back, also for only being on the market since June that device has sustained an enormous amount of damage clearly by someone who has a lot of rage. You show no such predisposition and in fact seem to take great care with it. You-”

“You imbecile!” the front door shut with a bang and a loud shout cut off Sherlock’s further deduction. Molly and Irene exchanged nervous glances and John looked to Sherlock for an explanation.

“What kind of _idiot_ comes to pick a person up on a motorbike in the middle of rain storm?” the angry voice continued.

“Well if you had of been on time, we wouldn’t have got caught in the storm.” Moran replied surly.

“Jim can have a bit of a temper” Molly whispered to John, “but he can also be really sweet.”

“Yes” Sherlock mused raising an eyebrow, “I often suspected Moriarty of being a son of Aries, but he’s a bit doubled natured that way, Janus maybe?” Sherlock sounded bored, like he really didn’t care either way if Jim Moriarty was ever claimed.

Jim stomped up the steps like a child having a tantrum and stopped dead when he saw John. A scowl twisted his features before he turned into a smile. Well John _thought_ he was trying to smile the grin looked more like a shark preparing to devour a school of fish. John had jumped a bit when the very wet, short, and cross teen had entered the room. His eyes were as black as his hair and the scowl had been near murderous.

“Found yourself a new toy Holmes?” the teen asked, not really sounding interested as he walked straight past Sherlock and towards John.

“James Moriarty” he said, sticking out his hand for John to shake, “but you can call me Jim, everyone does.”

“John Watson” John returned, trying to stifle a laugh. Sherlock, who was in John’s direct line of sight, was standing behind Jim rolling his eyes.

Jim turned to see what had caught John’s eye but missed the smirk Sherlock so proudly wore. It didn’t stop him from trying to glean what was going on behind his back. It seemed the two had a competition going on to be leader of the pack. The silent standoff could have gone on for ages but at that moment Mrs. Hudson called them down to help set the table.

At last they had all sat down to dinner, John was just loading his plate up with two slices of roast beef and a heaping pile of mashed potatoes when the back door opened and a rain soaked man entered the kitchen in a rush. He shook his head like a dog, spraying water in the process and politely removed his boots and coat. At first glance John thought he must be old because his hair was grey, but looking at his face John realized him to only be in his early 20’s. He wasted no time in grabbing a plate and piling it high, it was as though the man hadn’t eaten for a week.

“New face” he said randomly taking the only available chair.

John was trying to decipher the meaning of the odd phrase when he felt a sharp stab in his ribs and realized Sherlock must have elbowed him.

“He means you” Sherlock hissed low.

“Oh, ah, John Watson” John supplied lamely, he had no official title to give.

“Gregory Lestrade, son of Apollo, Champion of Artemis, you can call me Greg.” He said between shoveling forkfuls of veggies into his mouth. It was then John noticed Greg had taken no beef.  

“What’s a Champion of Artemis?” John asked. A clap of thunder overhead made the windows rattle. The storm was getting worse.

“Artemis is one of the three maiden goddesses” Greg answered, “as such she can’t have demigod children she does however have a group of young woman travel with her called the Hunters, Apollo, my father is her brother. My mother comes from a family renowned for their hunting skills, when I was younger I was out on my first hunt with my uncles and grandfather when they spotted a magnificent stag, only I didn’t see it as a stag but as a strangely dressed man. I pleaded with them to not kill _that_ stag but they wouldn’t listen.”

Greg shook his head in remorse, everyone was eating quietly out of respect, and John was hanging onto every word of Greg’s story.

“He gave them a good chase” Greg continued after a pause, “but eventually we found him, I ran to the beasts’ side and I cried over it, but then I heard a strange man’s voice say ‘thank you’ and I was confused. That night I was sitting outside and Lady Artemis appeared to me, she told me what I was and that the stag I saw had indeed once been a man named Actaeon. She said my compassion moved her, that he had once been a dear friend of hers until he had broken a promise. She offered me the same deal and named me her Champion, so long as I follow her three rules I remain as such.”

John wanted to ask what the three rules were but that seemed kind of personal. He assumed one was to not eat meat as Greg went back to chomping down on carrots and peas. John also had the feeling he found the archer who had shot the silver arrow into the smiley face.

The conversations went back to normal after that. Mrs. Hudson was just bringing out pudding when their meal was interrupted again. The back door swung open with a bang and lightening lit up the figure in the doorway. The rain came pouring in as it staggered forward and into the light. John was shocked to recognize the short frame.

“Mike?” John asked, just to be sure.

“John?” Mike Stamford replied, “Oh thank Zeus you found him.” Mike sounded relieved; like it was the first good news he had all day.

“Found who?” John asked confused.

“I knew they would find you if I left you at the park long enough, something came up and, oh Martha it’s awful!” Mike cried when he caught sight of Mrs. Hudson.

That was when John realised how ashen faced Mike was; he was very pale and on the verge of fainting. Just as the thought got out Mike collapsed in a wet heap onto the linoleum. John was totally lost, how had Mike known he would be found at the park by Sherlock and the others, how did he know Mrs. Hudson? None of it made sense and none of it mattered.

John flew into action directing Moran and Anderson to carry Mike into the living room and lay him out on the sofa. He instructed Molly to bring him a cool damp cloth and Irene to fetch a glass of water. The restless energy John had been feeling earlier had suddenly found its outlet.

The others looked on in silence as John tended to his patient. Mike smelled of horse, it was something John had gotten used to over the years. He had told John his family owned stables and though John had never met Mike’s family, had always believed it. There were other things that were odd about Mike but that was part of the reason he and John had become such good friends.

Mike had never even seen a Disney movie until he had come over to John’s place. Something Sherlock had said earlier replayed it’s self in John’s mind, ‘ _their caretaker is fond of Disney movies’_ the coincidence was just too much. John’s head was swimming as he put two and two together; Mike was the stable-hand for the Pegasus who lived at Buckingham Palace. It was even possible he knew all along that John was a demigod. It was clear he was the mastermind behind the ‘chance’ meeting earlier today.

Under John’s ministrations Mike’s eyes slowly opened and John, along with a few others gave a sigh of relief.

“Mike, hello, Mike, look at me” John said trying to get Mike to make eye contact with him; he seemed to be focusing on a point just above John’s head.

“I knew it” he whispered.  

“Well congratulations, John” Sherlock said in his all-knowing way.

“I had a feeling” Irene added.

John began looking around to see what everyone was talking about.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother” Lestrade said, grinning mischievously.

John looks straight up and shining bright above his head was a gold glowing laurel wreath, a symbol of Apollo, John was claimed. John was stunned; he remained silent for some time.

At last Mrs. Hudson spoke, bringing John out of his revere as the laurel faded, “Mike what was it you wanted to tell us?” She asks.

“A demigod child has died” Mike said, all somber, “the storm” he croaked, “not a normal storm.”

John administered the glass of water and Mike took a healthy swig.

“Who dear?” She asked.

“Carl Powers was his name, I had only just found him too. He drowned.” Mike bends his eyebrows in confusion as if that wasn’t possible. “Zeus and Poseidon are fighting because of it apparently he was an unclaimed son of Poseidon.”

The whole room gasped in shock.

“What?” John asked, feeling out of the loop yet again.

“Carl Powers shouldn’t have existed, for many reasons” Sherlock began, “but even still sons of Poseidon don’t just drown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to give good hints but for anyone not sure this story starts in October 2000.


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